June 6, 2012

Sunlight was streaming through the curtains when I woke up this morning. I checked my watch and it was only 5:30am, so it was time to try and get some more shut eye. The “resort” keeps a few roosters, some wild birds and even a peacock around and they all seemed to be singing at the same time creating such a cacophony that I gave up on trying to sleep and went searching for coffee. There was no one around except for a gardener pulling weeds from the cracks in the concrete, and I searched in vain for the canteen where we’ve been told tea and coffee could be had as early as six. In exasperation, I asked the old man where I could find either tea or coffee and he pointed to the employees’ quarters where an old woman offered to make me tea. A woman was coming down the steps and was apparently informed about my need for coffee and she offered me a coffee mug, instant coffee, powdered milk and a bowl of sugar. The old woman returned with a teakettle full of hot water and I was able to have my caffeine fix.

When Eraj woke up, we went out to breakfast to a new canteen across the street where the only options for me were boiled eggs, cold flat bread and fresh apricot juice. I had brought along the Lonely Planet guidebook and we set out to find the few sights in Istaravshan, most of them seemed to be mosques and medrazas dating back a couple thousand years. We seemed to have embarked on a search mission for no one we asked could point us in the right direction even when shown the names of the different mosques in the book. We took a couple of mini-vans, Eraj stopped and asked directions from countless passersby, and as there were no signs posted anywhere, walked and walked until we came upon some relics of buildings with no plaques or any other information to tell us when they had been built, whether they were still in use or who maintained them at that time. We found one mosque in the process of renovation while right alongside it a new medrazas (Islamic religious school) was being built. I was surprised they allowed us to take photos.

We went past a secondary school, Number 18, and the students encouraged us to come in and one of them went inside to obtain permission from the principal. She agreed to our looking inside the facilities as long as no photos were taken, and I could see immediately why photos would be undesirable as the rooms were cramped, contained few chairs or desks, the boards were ancient and rooms were heated through fireplaces built into the walls where firewood or coal could be burned during the winter. It was the most dispiriting place of learning I had seen in Tajikistan.

We went past some mud walls that resembled those used during Marco Polo’s travels and when I mentioned it to Eraj he acknowledged never had heard his name mentioned in any of his history classes. He thought he had heard about the Silk Road he traveled, but wasn’t completely sure. We went back to our “resort” to pick up our bags and try to make it into another town closer to the mountains as I couldn’t deal with the heat and the scorching sun anymore.

The shared taxi drivers piled up around us quoting ridiculous prices to take us to the next town, Aini, just two hours away. Others wanted to drive us straight to Panjikent for an eight hour ride, which I refused to do as I not gamble my life on these roads at night for no one. While waiting for other drivers to arrive and offer us a better deal, we went across the street and had a bite to eat. For me, the worst lagman soup I’ve ever eaten, and which I left mostly untouched, and meatballs for Eraj with some other ingredients I couldn’t identify. We finally agreed to pay 60.00 per person to ride in what looked like a brand-new Hyundai although we knew we were being fleeced. What followed was the most hellacious ride through a mountain pass I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. If I had been white, my knuckles would have been white as hanged for dear life from the strap above the window until my hand became numb and I asked Eraj to switch seats with me at the next stop.

We were riding with a driver who was transporting a new vehicle from Khujand to Dushanbe and thus he didn’t care if any damage was done to it in the process. He tailgated other cars, passed on the left of slow moving truck, got stuck in the snow and had to ask Eraj and one other make passenger to get out and push, burned rubber unnecessarily and simply behaved as if he had a death wish. At the top of the pass, the traffic came to standstill as a couple of trucks had rolled on the side and were blocking the little bit of road available to cars. It was cold there and dirty snow was still clinging to the side of the mountains. Eraj casually mentioned there was always a possibility that we might have to spend the night at the pass until conditions improve. I tried not to panic as I certainly had no clothes on appropriate for cold weather and couldn’t contemplate the idea of sleeping in the car. The male passenger insisted on showing us where a truck had gone down the precipice recently, but I refused to look. Road crews could be seen trying to add space at the edge of the precipice so cars could bypass the long line of trucks and move on faster. I shut my eyes and pretended I was someplace else.

When we finally started to go downhill and reached the paved portion of the road, the relief was so evident on my face that the older woman riding in the front seat smiled widely at me. The driver had offered to take us to a hotel he knew in the town of Aini and after inspecting with Eraj, we settled for it at a cost of 150.00 somoni, 50.00 for a local and 100.00 for the foreigner. There three rooms in a wing with a large shared bath at the end that even included a washer. Everything was new and our room sported two twin-sized beds, a small desk and a wardrobe. The clerk wanted to keep my passport overnight, but I refused agreeing instead on paying him the full sum on the spot. We could not have a key to the room for he claimed too many foreigners were walking away with them, but he would be closing the wing entirely when we left for dinner.

We got a ride with local who had recently won a Hyundai Sonata at a lottery and who seemed to be doing nothing but cruising around. The restaurants in town give me the usual choices: soup, shish kebabs and flat bread, none of which I wanted to eat. Eraj settled for the kebabs to take back to our room and I bought flat bread, cheese and cold water. It was getting dark as we walked back to the hotel, which is a 20-25 walk from the center of the town, and then a car pulled over and two gruff guys gave us a ride without saying a word to us. The smoked cheese I bought tasted like wax, the bread was cold and only my cold water was satisfying. Eraj insisted I have some of his kebabs and I ended up eating three pieces of them.

The bathroom was spotless and had hot water, so I took a luxurious bath in it. Eraj did the same and even shaved his beard of three days for he complained it made him look black, apparently a major sin in his book. I was delighted to find we still had access to the Internet despite the hotel being located among high mountains, but it was extremely slow. I was able to post a couple of blog entries, but uploading photos was out of the question.